


Deriving Health From Dope

by devnoel



Series: What Happens at 221B Baker Street [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Asparagus - Freeform, Bickering, But John is, Domestic Life at 221B Baker Street, Ficlet, Fluff, Nicotine Patches, Sherlock isn't happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5977528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devnoel/pseuds/devnoel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock swayed in his stand, then crumpled onto his own armchair with a hand hiding his face. “I cannot believe that you did this,” he mumbled through his palm.</p><p>“Oh! That reminds me.” John leapt up, suddenly excited. “Guess what I bought?” His patch of light forgotten, he ambled over to the kitchen table and proudly held up a vinyl bag like a warrior would with a tyrant’s head. A particularly green-haired tyrant . “Asparagus.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deriving Health From Dope

It was strangely sunny for a London weekend. 

John stretched back from his desk and gazed at the light pouring in between the curtains. He closed his laptop, heaved himself up to push the curtains aside before sinking onto his armchair. Fully sheathed in warm light, John sighed contentedly. Such a rare weather deserved to be appreciated—his blog update could wait. He closed his eyes, marvelling at the late afternoon glow warming him up. He could stay like that for the rest of the weekend. That was, until a dark shadow loomed over the orange shade of the backs of his eyelids. John could guess who it was without even opening his eyes.

“Where did you put my nicotine patches?” A low voice, clearly irritated, demanded from above him.

John cracked a smile with his eyes still closed. “You’re not going to find them anywhere, Sherlock.”

“Where are they?”   

“Probably being used by some other addict halfway across the continent by now.” His grin grew wider. “You know. They sell for quite a bit.”

“I keep telling you, John, I am a user, not an addict.”

“Job’s done. Can’t do anything about it.” John opened an eye. “Do you mind stepping aside for a bit? You’re in my light.”

Sherlock swayed in his stand, then crumpled onto his own armchair with a hand hiding his face. “I cannot believe that you did this,” he mumbled through his palm.

“Oh! That reminds me.” John leapt up, suddenly excited. “Guess what I bought?” His patch of light forgotten, he ambled over to the kitchen table and proudly held up a vinyl bag like a warrior would with a tyrant’s head. A particularly green-haired tyrant. “Asparagus.”

Sherlock gave him a baleful glare from between his fingers. “You bought asparagus stems in exchange for my nicotine patches?”

“Of course. Deriving health from dope.” John gave the bag another jiggle before setting it back down. “Fresh asparagus is known to have a considerable amount of antioxidant nutrients—“

“such as vitamin C, E, and the minerals zinc and manganese, is incredibly well balanced and also contains the amino acid asparagine—”

A bit vexed due to Sherlock’s snatching of his medical knowledge for one of his intellectual rants, John rolled his eyes. “I get it, Sherlock.” 

“—which helps insulin transport glucose in a more productive manner, consequently lowering the chances of type 2 diabetes. Consumption may help fight and protect against certain types of cancers such as bone, breast, lung and colon.” 

“Sherlock.”

Unaffected as usual, Sherlock rattled on from his seat. He’d closed his eyes now—whether to access his stupid mind palace or to add a dramatic flair, John did not know. “Although there are no life threatening outcomes due to over-ingestion, there may be extra production of gas in addition to a noticeable smell to the urine.” He opened his grey eyes to stare into John’s face. “Surely you wouldn’t want your short trips to the bathroom to be smelly, John.”

John sighed, walking back to his armchair. “Why the hell would you remember the nutrition values of vegetables instead of the heliocentric theory?” he asked, accusingly stressing the last two words.

Clearly exasperated, Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh, God, that again. For the sixth time I can assure you that it’s not important. And plus, nutrition is crucial to deductions based on a person’s eating habits and their allergic tendencies.”

“It’s primary school stuff, Sherlock.”

“Insignificant, more like.”

“Do you realise that you’ve just deemed at least two of the most illustrious astronomers of history to be ‘insignificant’?”

“Don’t care.”

John sighed. His flatmate would constantly fluctuate from highly intellectual—yes, he admitted it. Highly intellectual—to impossibly childish. And he was more than used to it now. “I’m going down to see Miss Hudson.”

“Why?”

He stood up. “To get advice on asparagus recipes.”

“Oh. I like mine parboiled,” Sherlock added as John headed for the door.


End file.
